Page 120 of I Blame the Club

The handwriting is so beautiful, it takes me a moment to look past the calligraphy and actually read the words.

“Lacey! Are you there?”

Karen’s voice rings out from the doorway, jolting me from my thoughts. Snagging a pen from my bag, I quickly scribble a response before tucking the tissue back where I found it.

“Coming!” Giving the yellow material one last glance, I feel excitement seep into my body as I follow Karen inside the building.

My therapist gives me a warm smile, her floral dress swishing around her ankles as she leads me to the living room where we conduct these sessions.

“You seem to be in a cheerful mood today, Lacey. Any exciting news?”

I smile, settling myself down on the beige couch just like I do every week.

“This may sound silly, but I think I found myself a new friend.”

Karen grabs her notepad from the table, giving me an understanding look, “That is far from silly, my dear. Where did you meet this friend?”

“Well, I haven’t actually met her yet, but I have a feeling we are going to be the best of friends.”

“Oh.” Karen blinks, confusion crossing her face before a warm smile takes its place, “In that case, I wish you all the best with this friendship. Now, tell me how you’ve been feeling since the last time I saw you.”

Normally, this is the part that brings me down. The mundane routine of working through my every thought, dream, and aspiration so Karen can have a look into my psyche. But today, I answer her questions happily because an abnormal thought races through my mind.

Someone else might understand what it’s like to be the broken girl.

Skylar

The tissue isn’t how I left it.

The perfectly folded corners stick out like a sore thumb from the pinched space between the rocks, a place I started leaving my thoughts on tissues just for the hell of it.

It started as a joke. A way to speak my mind without the fear that my brother’s reputation might tarnish it. But somewhere along the way it became my solace. A safe space for me to give voice to the dark thoughts bouncing inside my head.

Each week I leave a question to Karen’s tissues and each week I replace it with a new one.

Except for today.

Unfolding the yellow material, hastily scrawled letters scream back at me, the dainty scripture making me think it’s from a girl.

Then maybe it’s time to make the choice your own again.

I tilt my head, studying the words. I’ve never considered the possibility that someone might read my thoughts.

Let alone respond to them.

Pulling out the pen clipped to my sketch book, I copy the last two lines of our conversation onto the newest tissue, adding a new line beneath.

Who took the choice from you?

I fold up the note, placing it back between the rocks just as a small figure comes walking up the trail. The girl stops to look at me, the defiance in her posture identical to that of her older brother.

“Vin.” Stella gives me a stiff nod, the connotation of my last name echoing loud and clear, “Nice day for therapy, hey?”

There’s a challenge in her voice, an unspoken rivalry that descends from our universities to our respective siblings, both of them well-known in the lacrosse circuit.

She’s the younger sister of Taber’s champion.

I’m the younger brother of Silverwood’s bully.

Pulling up the hood of my Sabers hoodie, I give her a shrug, “Something like that.”

Her stare burns into my back as I turn to leave, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my sweater with the mystery girl’s message clutched tightly in my hand.

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